


Not A Hero

by sgtbarnes_winter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Crime, Crime Fighting, Death, Depression, Drug Dealing, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Fluff and Angst, Fluff is few and far between, Gore, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Murder, No Smut, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Prostitution, Reference to MCU, References to Captain America(MCU), References to Celebrities, References to Deadpool(Marvel), References to Supernatural (TV), Sad with a Happy Ending, Self-Harm, Violence, biromantic character, but its there, main character has some shit man, this is not a happy fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 11:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtbarnes_winter/pseuds/sgtbarnes_winter
Summary: Artemis Winters, previously known as Ana Boothe, is an assassin. She has gone through tragedy, and like any rational human being, dealt with it by becoming a hired gun. The only strand of personality she has left, is her punk aesthetic. She literally looks like the embodiment of punk rock. It's pretty awesome. This is the only way she can express herself, seeing as she has no emotion anymore. That is, until she meets Hayden, and all her emotions come flooding back.Sadness, Anger, Guilt... Maybe even something more...maybe some tiny sliver of happiness? Though, according to Artemis, she doesn't deserve that.Hayden Cruz, always known as Hayden Cruz, just wants to protect his sister. He has gone through tragedy, and dealt with it by going to therapy. His sister, however, did not. She got involved with some bad people. He dealt with this by following a murderer home and trying to steal her weapons to protect her. Though, instead of killing him, she has him tell her exactly what happened with his sister, and offers to track down and take these fuckers out. Along the way, Hayden realizes that Artemis may be in danger too. Danger from herself. Will he be able to save both Artemis and his sister before it's too late?





	1. Prologue

"Your treacherous behavior will be your demise."

He spoke quickly without even glancing my way. 

His voice was scratchy and rough, trying to intimidate me with his malevolence. As the truck converged onto the highway, my hands were struggling to free themselves from the confines of the zip cord tied around them.

"Sure, sure. But I feel like it’s more likely to be yours, you disgusting, trash-dwelling piece of absolute shit,"

I said, cheerfully, as my hands were finally freed. As I struggled against the seat of the car, I smashed the window and jumped out, not even thinking about the moving cement underneath me. I slammed down onto the road, scraping my knees and groaning in pain. _'Get up, Artemis.'_ I thought as I sprinted down the road.

 When I felt safe enough, I turned around, only to find the truck had driven off the road, crashed into a tree, and my captor was chasing me. I was too far up the highway for him to catch me, so I turned onto a dirt path and trekked through the woods until I had lost him. My clothes torn and my hair filled with leaves, I began to make my way away from the highway and back to my bunker where they couldn't track me.

 I made a mistake leaving it, that's when they found me.


	2. Chapter 2

"Reports are pouring in from all over the state. Everyone seems to think that the fugitive has been seen in their neighborhood. Stay tu-"

The bartender changes the channel, as I down my fifth of whiskey. Looking inconspicuous and making sure I'm not a face to remember has become a habit.

"Getcha anythin' else, doll?" The bartender drawls with a slight southern twang.

"Yeah, 'nother fifth." I shoot back. ' _Short and simple, A'_  . Don't let them remember you.

"You got it, miss."

He slides the drink across the bar into my waiting hand. I pull out a ten dollar bill, put it down on the bar, and with a slight nod of my head, I shoot back the whiskey and saunter out the door. I marked my target the second I waltzed into this run down bar next to a shitty motel. I get in my car, roll down the window, and light a cigarette. I sit and wait for the man to walk out of the bar, and after about half an hour, he does. I wait for him to turn the corner and I get out of my car, open up the trunk, and then the second compartment that has my gear in it.

Grabbing one of my pistols, a .22, just something simple, I shed my outer layer of clothing to make sure I'm in my "uniform." It's literally just some black clothes that help me blend into the night. Finally done gearing up, I slam my car door and start following the guy. I quickly catch up to him, he's a very easy target to track, I can smell the cigarette hit lit outside the bar, from yards away. He turns into a dark alley and I sigh. _'He knows I'm following him._ ' Making sure the silencer is on my pistol, I quickly turn the corner with my hand in my jacket and my finger off the trigger, but on the barrel, always read to spring into action. 'Safety off, trigger finger, ready.' I think, preparing myself for the job. I find him standing almost 5 feet away from me, with his gun pointed at me.

"Why are you following me, girl?" He spits.

"Hm, well let's think here, sir." I almost spat that last word out.

" You have brutally murdered 3 people, physically and sexually assaulted 5, and I do believe we also have an accusation of Grand Theft Auto? So, Reyes, why do you _think_ I'm here." I sass, almost bored.

I know he's not gonna shoot me, I spotted the weapon when I was in the bar. His safety is on and is finger isn't even on the trigger.

"I didn't do nothin, you got the wrong guy."

"I have never had the wrong guy in my 10 years of this." I state.

"Please, I'm sorry."

Is he joking? Is he seriously begging for his life right now? This pig thinks I have any sense of pathos for him he is even more demented than we thought.

"Tough."

I slide the gun out of my holster, and before he can even click his safety off, I'm pulling the trigger and watching the bullet go right where I aimed. Right through his brain. It's almost poetic, it's the same way he killed his wife and 2 kids, the fucking sicko. I walk out of the alleyway, putting my gun back in my jacket and lighting another cigarette.

_'Yeah, someone else will clean that up. Doesn't matter, I don't leave a trace of evidence as to who killed this fucker.'_

 I think as I get to my car, start it up, and drive away.

Ten years I've been a hit "man," and in ten years I've killed over a hundred guilty people. If you can even call them that.


	3. Chapter 3

**_ Ten Years Ago* _ **

"Name."

"Art--er-- Ana Boothe."

"Age."

"17."

"Gender."

"Female."

"How did you find us, Mrs. Boothe?"

"It's Miss. And I didn't. My father is Aiden Boothe. He founded this fucking thing, now if I'm not allowed in I swear I'll kick all of your asses. I just need to speak with my father."

I show them my I.D.

"Oh. Yes, Ma'am. Our Apologies."

I hear the click of the lock on the security door and I shove it open, fuming with rage.

"Where is he?!" I bellow, expecting a response. When I don't get one, I slam my hand on the table that happened to be next to me.

"I said, where is he?!" I repeat.

"I don't like repeating myself. So, if I have to say it one more time, someone's face will replace my hand on this table." I say in an infuriatingly calm tone. Sometimes the most intimidating tone, is the calmest.

"Ana, darling? What's going on?" I hear my father's voice and my head snaps up.

"You." I spit at him. "How could you?" I scream.

"What are you talking about, doll?"

"For 18 years, you've been running a "lawyer firm" and this entire time it has been a front?! For drugs?!" I accuse.

"Sweetheart, not now. Come into my office, we can talk after you've calmed down a bit."

"Bullshit, dad! We're talking _now._ " I stand my ground. This is the last time I will be intimidated by him and his lies. "You have one more chance to explain yourself, or the results will not be favorable for you, Aiden." I spat his name at him.

He stands shocked as I show my contempt for him by omitting the title of "father." He doesn't deserve to be called my father anymore. But, he does deserve everything coming to him.

He still stands there, as if he can't believe what he heard.

"You heard me right, Aiden. I know this is a front, I know you've been hiding this from us. I know everything." I say, putting my hand on my hip, and wrapping it discreetly around the .45 pistol I have hidden in my belt, under my long jacket.

"If you don't start talking right now, I will have no choice but to do this." I say, almost flippantly. He doesn't have any idea and still stands silent, as if he expects me to jump and say "April Fools!"

If he thinks that, then he's the fool. I silently count to ten, and when I finish, I whip out my gun and aim it right at his head. I know I may be crazy, killing someone in a "law firm" but this is the first person I'd ever kill, over time I'd wise up. But I can promise that everyone I kill will have deserved it it for the awful deeds they have done.

"Ana! What are you doing? Put that away, right now! You don't know how to handle a gun!" He says, shocked.

Is he stupid? I've been trained in the martial arts since I was a six year old girl who would refuse to go to ballet, and when forced to go, would sneak into the martial arts studio and train with the sensei, who understood my hatred of the dance. Now I'm trained in 7 different types of martial art, and in countless other forms of weaponry and self-defense. I am basically a trained assassin.

"You have no idea what I'm capable of, Aiden." I spit, as I pull the trigger, shooting this man in the head. I feel no remorse, this man may as well be a stranger to me, now.

I sprinted out of there, not caring at all the scene I had created, even with all the people around, no one would ever be able to find or track me. That night, before the police could even send out a warning, I went to a plastic surgeon and told him to completely alter my face. I needed to disappear, start something new. It worked, and I slipped out of the lives of everyone who I had connections with. Granted, it wasn't that many, I cut nearly everyone off after that night.

I still dream about that night. The night my entire life changed.


	4. Chapter 4

That night. That god forsaken night.

Yes, you're about to get some background into my life. Yes it is tragic. Don't pity me.

2 years ago my sister Diana and I had gotten into this huge fight. I don't even remember why, I remember every detail about that night, except for the reason why she stormed out. 

*** _flashback_ ***

She slammed the door, stomping out, tears streaming down her face. I felt the cold, night air bite my cheeks and ears, as the door swung open and then closed.

I sighed, _'Son of a bitch,'_ I thought. 

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my coat. Shrugging it on, I rushed out, only to find Diana a few yards down the sidewalk. 

I began to follow her, shouting for her to come inside from the frigid, December night.

"Diana, please! Come inside! We can talk where it isn't cold as all hell!" I yelled, pleading with her.

She turned around, eyes glistening with tears. 

"I hate you, Ana," she spat, "Leave me alone!"

That wouldn't have stuck with me this long, if those weren't the last words my sister ever spoke to me.

"Fuck you, Diana Boothe." I spat venomously. 

As I went to turn away, I stopped and opened my mouth, preparing to apologize for the harsh words that I didn't even mean.

"Di, I..."

I was cut off by a sudden blinding light, and the unmistakable sound of tires skidding on pavement. 

A black Honda Civic came speeding out of nowhere, with it's high beams still on, blinding us both. The car was out of control, but looking back, I was close enough to get to and push Diana out of the way and take the blow myself. But I didn't. I froze and I watched my baby sister get slammed by this fucking car. I can still see the fear in her eyes, seconds before the accident occurred.

I will never forget a single detail about that night. I even remember the plate number: AW7-O9J3.

But I can't remember the reason this all occurred.

I just know that it was my fault.

My baby sister was hit by a car, and it was my fault.

It was my fault, because I could have saved her. She didn't have to die, she shouldn't have. I should have. She had potential, she was going somewhere in life. Now, she's fucking dead. She's fucking dead, and I could have done something about it! But, I didn't. She's dead and I'm still here.


	5. Chapter 5

You know what, my story is a little bit long and extra so here's a damn timeline. 

12/02/14: Diana Boothe is hit by the car

2/26/15: Diana dies in the hospital after months of suffering in a comatose state

2/26/15: Ana Boothe dies along with her, and from the ashes, rises a cold heartless shell.

2/28/15: Ana gets her first tattoo: " _Diana_ ❤" along her ribcage.

3/11/15: Ana gets a lipring

4/15/15: Ana gets two more tattoos: a black/blue dragon swirling up her left arm from her forearm to her shoulder blade, and a skull and crossbones on her right wrist.

5/19/15: Ana gets an eyebrow piercing

7/21/15: Ana " _01-14"_ tattooed under the skull and crossbones.

7/22/15: Ana shaves the side of her head, chops the rest off to a shaggy shoulder-length bob, and dyes her blonde hair: teal to dark blue, fading to black

8/13/15: Ana gets a nose ring, and a cartilage ring

4/28/16: Ana kills her father, and goes into hiding as Jane Doe. Surprisingly, no one suspected anything, however odd the situation was.

12/08/17: "Jane" turns 18 and legally changes her name to Artemis Winters.

 

**12/28/17**

I have been 18 for 20 days. I have been Artemis Winters for 20 days. However, I haven't been Ana Boothe in over 2 years. I haven't been able to be, I have been Jane Doe since I killed my father last year, but now I have an identity. I am Artemis. 

When Di was in the hospital, I sat by her side every day. I just dropped everything and everyone I thought was important to me, I no longer cared. I didn't care about what I was wearing to school the next day, in fact since I was 16, I dropped out of school completely. I became so numb, none of the information was sticking. If I had stayed, I would have graduated, probably with honors, went to college, got a masters degree and eventually be stuck in a cubicle until I fucking died. Sounds like hell now, but that is exactly what would have happened. 

When I dropped out of junior year, my parents were furious. They called me names, and yelled. all while I just sat there next to my incapacitated sister. _'They're screaming at me, in my sister's hospital room, while she's fucking dying.'_ I had thought. But I kept my mouth shut. I didn't speak for about 6 months. The therapist my parents hired would come and see me in my room for weeks after the death of my sister. Eventually, I tired of my inconsiderate parents and got the hell out of there.

I was brought up in an upper-middle class family. I was a preppy bitch with a hockey-player boyfriend and captain of the debate team. Then, my entire life died, and I became the shell I am today. A scarred, physically and mentally, sneaky, emo-ass bitch.

My name is Artemis Winters, and I'm a psychopath.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate everyone and I'm not crazy. Psychopath doesn't equal psychotic. I just don't feel anything. I don't feel love or hate. I don't feel happiness or sadness or guilt. I'm fucked up, and I know it, but it makes me a cold-stone killing machine. So, I don't question it. Ever since that day, I've been on my own. People come to me with profiles on people they need taken down, and I deem them worthy of my efforts. If it is a silly grudge, I rip it up. If not, I take the fucker out.

Black is the only thing in my wardrobe, I know, sounds angsty, but it helps me blend into the night. 

Perhaps that's why they call me the Shadow.

 


	6. Chapter 6

I know, I know. I sound like just another emo freak, and let's be honest, I am. But, I have reason, and I have reason for the why I am, and I had reason for leaving that life...those people behind. You're probably sympathizing with my parents, now, right?

" _Oh, they lost 1 kid and now another leaves them?"_ yeah, Boo-fucking-hoo.

Don't.

They don't deserve it, but they did; however, deserve everything they got.

My parents... previously known as Aiden and Julia Boothe, were a modern day Romeo and Juliet. Oh, except for the fact that my mother was a druggie whore who abused my father for years, and my dad, who was far from innocent, ran a law firm which was really a front for a huge system of drug dealers.

So not really a Romeo and Juliet story, at all.

They were both horrendous people, I guess that explains me.

They were also stupendous liars, as me and Diana believed their perfect fairy-tale lie, right up until my mother snapped and started screaming at my father in front of me and Di.

It started as verbal abuse. She made us believe that both us and our father deserved this, that we had done something wrong in our lives to earn this treatment. Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. She was hurting Diana, she had to be stopped.

When I was 14, I had had enough of the abuse that our family had taken, and I tried to stand up to her.

That was my first stab wound, and my first scar of the many that she and others would give me over the course of my life.

I don't regret it, because at least it wasn't Diana

My mother was arrested about 8 months after the death of my sister. She had been caught by the police in the middle of a... transaction, where a man paid her with meth. She took it, and was in the middle of... payment...when the cops showed up.

The charges were: prostitution, possession and usage of illegal drugs, domestic abuse, and child abuse.

She has been rotting in prison for almost 2 years now, right where she belongs.

There's only one thing she did right, in her 16 years of failure, and that was sending me to "ballet."

She sent me to ballet everyday, but I hated it, though it was a waste of time. Eventually, I made my way into the dojo across the street from the studio. The sensei there seemed to sense a bad situation and began to train me, and had me work whenever I could as payment. I am currently trained in several kinds of martial art, along with any kind of weaponry you could imagine. I'm fluent in many languages, I mean, what else is there to do when you're laying low from the law. So, I can speak fluent English, Spanish, Romanian, Russian, Italian, French, German, and some other less common languages like Swahili and even Bulgarian.

What? I was bored.

Da, eu vorbesc limba româna... ce?*

 

 

 

_*Yes, I speak Romanian... what?*_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> /**THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SLIGHTLY GRAPHIC SELF-HARM, STARTING WHEN IT SAYS: “He was trying to protect...” in italics, to the end just a few lines but it’s kind of descriptive.**\

* _ **Present Day***_

_"Artemis?"_

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"Why isn't your latest sale filed yet?"_

_"Oh my gosh! I am so sorry, Mr. Rhodes! I have the paperwork right here, I must have gotten distracted! It won't happen again!"_

_"It better not, Ms. Winters. Or else you're fired."_

My eyes snapped open, and I quickly sat upright on my bed.

 _'If only all my nightmares were like that one...'_ I thought, rolling my eyes.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stretched. Pulling out my phone, I checked the time: 2:27AM. As if on cue, I yawned. I stood up slowly, not wanting to black out from exhaustion, and made my way into my kitchen. My apartment kind of looks like Alexander Pierce's place, in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Though, unfortunately, lacking in Sebastian Stan at my dinner table. Nevertheless, every time I walk into my dining room, I always glance over there and remember that scene. You know the scene I'm talking about. Maybe if my insomnia doesn't let up, I'll watch that movie. It's fucking iconic.

I wandered around my kitchen, when I noticed something out of place.

' _Interesting,'_ I thought, _'Not once in almost 7 years have I left that door open.'_

The door that leads to my bunker was open. My heart immediately started pounding as I reached for one of the weapons I have stashed in the kitchen. I have at least 3 weapons in every room in the house, and since I don't have to worry about a romantic interest finding them or children finding them, I can keep them in the same place. However, when I reached for the 9mm Glock that is always secured under the counter, nothing was there. So, I went for my hunting knife behind the trash can. Thankfully, that was there.

_'A knife to a gun fight, Artemis, literally.'_

Grasping the knife tightly in a position where I could easily attack or defend, I also reached for my holster and .22. Those were where they always were, openly out on the counter.

 _'Odd,'_ I noticed, _'Whoever is here, and someone is_ definitely _here, took the hidden gun and didn't take the one that was out in the open.'_

I took note of this as I secured my gun and holster, holding the knife out in front of me. In hindsight, I don't know why I armed myself with the knife over the gun...oh well, live and learn.

Nudging the bunker door open a little more, the light shone through the kitchen. Nothing else was out of place, so I began the descent down to my hidden bunker, where I keep my more...ostentatious... weaponry. My heart rate picks up as I hear rattling and rummaging coming from the "sword wall." Okay, so it's not a sword wall, but more of a shelf with a few katanas, machetes, a short sword, and a pair of kamas. What can I say, I like to be prepared.

I slowly and silently make my way through the aisles of undisturbed weaponry, until I find myself staring at the back of someone's head. They were rummaging through the drawer with the daggers.

 _'Shit, some of those still have poison on them.'_ I remember taking those away from some psycho a few weeks ago.

Backing away, I place my knife down, quietly, and take out my gun. Cocking and aiming it,

"So, I've got some questions."

The man spins around, noticeably startled.

"Shoot." He says with a smirk.

"Oh, don't make me, pretty boy." I might be asexual but that first, doesn't mean aromantic...and second, doesn't mean that this guy wasn't smoking hot. Like, there's Sebastian Stan hot, and then there was Bucky Barnes hot. This guy was definitely the latter, let me tell you. He scans me up and down, before his steel blue eyes glance at my gun, and then he makes eye contact with me.

"Who the hell are you," I question.

"Ajax," he responds, again with that lopsided smirk.

"Well, Francis," I say, cheekily, knowing that he's referencing Deadpool. "How about you tell me who you really are, what the hell you're doing in my...house, and how the fuck you managed to break in, not to mention get into my weapons room?"

"You're a talker," He quotes, "But you're a cute talker, so maybe I'll answer your questions."

"Buddy, you better. I know how to use every one of these weapons, expertly. Plus, I don't like repeating myself. So why don't you go ahead and start talkin'." I threaten him, fully intending to inflict bodily harm upon him, no matter how aesthetically pleasing his face might be. See, I don't get stolen from. Ever.

He puts his hands up, holding a pair of sharp, blue and red kamas in one.

"Put that back where you got it or so help me, I'll shoot you where you stand, pretty boy."

He turns slowly and puts the weapons back in their case, and shuts it. Turning back to me, he says,

"My name is Hayden. Just Hayden. I'm stealing your weapons, and I broke in by following you from the alley where you killed that guy. You're very easy to track, girlie. You didn't even clean up your mess." He made a 'tsk' noise with his tongue, and shook his head, smiling. "I do believe this is yours, though." He pulled something out of his pocket.

"My dog tags?" I hadn't even noticed they were gone. My hand flew up to my bare neck in shock. "I...how..." I couldn't breathe, I haven't taken those off in years, how the hell did they manage to fall into the hands of this man-Hayden?

He didn't say anything, he just held out the tags. I snapped out of it, swiping them from his hand and pulling them over my head. They aren't technically mine, they're my ex-boyfriend's. The one I abandoned after Di's death. He went into the war and had me as the person to contact if something happened. He didn't make it home. Jumping onto a fucking grenade will do that to you. My eyes fill up with tears, _'What is happening right now?'_ I question.

_ ***Eight Years Ago*** _

_My phone rang once, twice, three times before I finally picked it up. Checking the caller ID, my brows furrowed. Unknown Number?_

_"Artem-erm, Ana Boothe." For some reason, my gut was telling me that this was the name to use for this call._

_"Ms. Boothe, this is..."_

_The rest of the conversation has been blurred from memory, other than:_

_"We are so sorry..."_

_and_

_"The only remains were his dog tags, would you like to have these?"_

_Tears streaming down my face, I had not yet built up a shell, as it had only been two years since I left my life, "yes."_

_I managed to get out. I don't remember anything after that._

"erm, hey, miss?" A voice broke me out of my hazy recollection. "Are you okay?"

My gun had fallen from my hands, and yet, this man-Hayden, was still standing there. He had not picked up a weapon, or made any move to escape or harm me. He was just standing there with a concerned look on his face.

Tears were now openly falling down my face, "What? I'm fine." I spit out. I wipe the tears from my face and shake my head, trying to clear my mind before something bad happened. I closed my eyes, trusting that he wouldn't harm me, and after a few seconds, open them. Shakily, I say, "Now, pretty boy."

"Uh..." Hayden stands there awkwardly, "y-yes?"

He's confused. I'm confused. What the fuck.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat for attempting to rob me?" I step forward, snatching a katana from the shelf, spinning around him, and holding it to his throat. Though he was taller, I was faster.

He gasped, "Uh, because..."

"I'm waiting, Francis."

"Because I did it to protect my baby sister!" The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

The katana fell from my hands, and clattered onto the floor. There was a sharp intake of breath, my own. The tears threatened to come again.

"Y-you. You what?" I said, not trusting myself to maintain composure. "Never mind," I said, "I'm about to do something extremely stupid, Hayden."

He looks at me, brows furrowed. "What's that now, girlie?"

I take a deep breath. "Go upstairs," I managed to get out, "Wait for me in the dining room. Do _not_ touch anything."

He looks at me again, but this time with an indecipherable expression, and nods. Slowly making his way up the stairs to my dining room.

I take another breath, and pick up the weapons, putting all of them back where they need to be. I sheath the knife, and place the gun back in its holster. Then, upon second glace, I take an extra dagger from the drawer. Holding it in my hand, I press my thumb to the blade, hard.

_He wants to protect his baby sister._

 Blood drips down the side of the blade, and down my skin. I am mesmerized for a mere second before sliding the knife across my forearm. Not the underside, but the top.

_I should have protected her._

Blood pools where I press the hardest.

_It should have been me._

Tears and blood fall to the concrete floor, a mixture of both pain and sadness. Both representing the other perfectly. I quickly rinse off the dagger, and go over to the med kit. I pull out bandages and wrap up my left arm. Pulling the sleeve of my black shirt down to my wrist, I begin to make my way towards the stairs, wiping away any trace of tears on my face.


End file.
